


Stolen Moments

by ThatThembo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gender neutral Hero of Ferelden, It's Soft, No Beta, Other, Post Anxiety Attack Writing FTW, The Warden is touch starved, lets go, tender love and care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatThembo/pseuds/ThatThembo
Summary: The Hero of Ferelden takes some time to themself and reflects on that insanity of the past year, but when facing the world at war, why can't Hero steal  a moment of peace with Leliana?
Relationships: Leliana (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Leliana (Dragon Age)/Reader





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Hi whoever reads this! This fun stuff is post Anxiety Attack writing. And for some reason, my brain is forcing me to write for Dragon Age. So I hope you enjoy! It’s Very soft because this is apparently what my new coping mechanism is.  
> Enjoy.

Having the Arl’s Castle, land, fortress-- the Hero of Ferelden still doesn’t know what to call it exactly-- Highever as their base is so different than the scattered camp that they were oh so used to. It was even different than the Circle Tower, which now is so ruined that it could never again seem like a home, even if they willed it.

All of this runs through their mind as they stare at the flames of the fire in front of them. Once again the flames have begun to die down. Sighing softly, Hero stands to grab more kindling. Tossing more kindling into the fireplace in ‘their room,’ they revel in not being sore for the first time in what seems like ages. Of course the still-healing wounds pinch and pull, but not having armor on does wonders for natural healing.

The fire roars higher and hotter as the sticks catch the flames. With a hand across their side, they grimace slightly as they slide down to a sitting position. After a number of minutes, they can hear the soft footsteps signaling Leliana’s approach. “The next time you run from a room, you should make sure to do it with more flair, that way some tasteful rumors can be formed in your favor.” The soft orlesian accent which Hero has come to love echos from the door to ‘their room.’

“Is that how it all works?” Hero asks with a dried voice, a small tired smile curling their lips. Leliana moves to sit on the sofa not far behind Hero and the two slip into a silence. The sticks and logs in the fire suddenly shift as the wood burns away, throwing a piece of burned stick near the mouth of the fireplace. The blackened stick smokes as the embers on the outside eat away at the wood; some of the smoke slips into the room rather than through the floo.

“Fire has smoke,” Hero says absently.

“It normally does,” says Leliana in confirmation. Hero slowly shakes their head.

“This fire does, but mine--” they snap their fingers to their side and create a little burst of fire, a smoke-free flame, “doesn’t. Not until it hits something. And then the smell isn’t nearly as pleasant as the smell of wood.” Hero brings their hand to their nose and smells their fingers and recoils slightly. “Not nearly.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. Does it hurt when you create fire?” Hero turns to Leliana at the question, coming back into their body as if only now realizing that they had been speaking aloud.

“Depends on the amount I’m creating. That just now was like when you run a hand through a candle’s flame. More fire can be uncomfortable.” Leliana nods

“Come here,” she says softly, and Hero complies. Scooting towards Leliana, they continue to sit on the ground, but lean into Leliana’s legs and let their head roll back onto her knees. After a moment’s shifting, Hero is situated in a comfortable position with their head now resting on the couch cushion.

Another silence slips between the two and as the fire continues to crackle, Leliana begins to braid strands of her partner’s and friend’s overgrown hair. Hero’s hair has been chopped and burned and rubbed thin by battles and helms, yet it still maintained its natural curl.

They stay like this for a time. Hero, whose eyes slipped closed minutes ago, sits and with a hand hovering over an almost healed wound and rests under Leliana’s touch and care. Leliana, whose fingers weave as intricate a design as they can, sits with a soft smile as the fire warms the two of them and looks down at the flawed leader of the broken Wardens of Ferelden.

The past year has been hard, and despite the assassins, darkspawn, demons, and others who tried and at many points nearly succeeded in making everything much more grim, they have all persisted. They have persisted. With a Landsmeet and Archdemon in the near future, all these two can ask for at this point are these stolen moments. And steal them they do.


End file.
